Sholem Aleichem - Tevye the Dairyman and Motl the Cantor's Son

“Something must have happened to him on the way home,” she said. “Maybe thieves attacked him and robbed him blind. Or maybe he fell sick, God forbid, or may my mouth not say it, he may be dead.”

“What will you think of next, my dear soul?” I said. “Robbers!” Still, you could never tell what might happen to a man while traveling. “Why do you always think the worst?” I asked Golde.

“He has that kind of family. His mother,” she said, “may she protect us before God, died not long ago, still young. He had three sisters, may our fate be different from theirs. One died young, another did marry but caught a cold in the bath and died, and the third went out of her mind after her first childbirth, struggled and struggled and finally died.”

“You live and you die. We will all die,” I said to Golde. “A carpenter lives, and in the end he still dies. And how is any man different from a carpenter?”

And so it was decided that I would go to Yehupetz. In the meantime the dairy business had grown a bit. We had a nice little shop in which we sold cheese, butter, and sour cream, first-class merchandise. My wife harnessed the horse and wagon, and as Rashi says: And so they journeyed forth . On to Yehupetz! As I was riding along, melancholy and downcast, as you might imagine, with a bitter heart, alone in the woods, all kinds of fears and thoughts beset me. It would be a fine thing, I thought, if, once I got there and asked about my man, I was told, “Menachem-Mendl? Oh ho, he’s really made it big, has the world by the tail, owns his own house, rides in a carriage. He’s not to be recognized!”

In my imagination I pulled myself together and then courageously took myself straight to his house. A servant would receive me rudely at the door with an elbow in the ribs. “Don’t push yourself in that way, Uncle,” he’d snarl. “Around here you don’t push.” “But I’m a relative,” I’d say. “Menachem-Mendl is my wife’s second cousin once removed.” “Congratulations!” he’d say. “Happy to make your acquaintance, but you still must wait here at the door. It won’t do you any harm.” He was hinting to have his palm greased. Well, grease the wheel, and you’ll ride. I was taken up to see my cousin right away.

“Good morning to you, Reb Menachem-Mendl!” I said in my imagination. But he made no speech or utterance . He did not recognize me! “What do you want?” I imagined him asking me. I almost fainted. “What is this, Pani,” I’d say. “You don’t know your own relative? I’m Tevye!” “Ah?” he’d say. “Tevye? That’s a familiar name.” “Familiar?” I’d say. “Maybe my wife’s blintzes are familiar! Do you remember her knishes, her knaidlach, her blintzes?”

Then I imagined that the very opposite happened. I would go in, and he’d greet me with a broad “ Sholem aleichem.” A guest! A guest! “Sit, Reb Tevye,” he’d say. “How are you, how is your wife? I’ve been expecting you. I want to settle accounts with you.” And he’d fill my hat with money. “This,” he’d say, “is the earnings, and the principal remains the same. Whatever we earn, we will divide in half, fifty-fifty, half for me, half for you. For me a hundred, for you a hundred, for me two hundred, for you two hundred, for me three hundred, for you three hundred, for me four hundred, for you four hundred.”

I dozed off as my imaginary relative was speaking and didn’t notice that my horse had wandered off the path and somehow hooked the wagon onto a tree branch. Seeing stars, I felt as if I had been kicked from behind. Everything turns out for the best, I said to myself. Thank God an axle didn’t break.

Well, I arrived in Yehupetz and, as usual, quickly sold my dairy products. Then I began to look for my man. I looked around for an hour and two and then three — the man was not to be found! I stopped people along the way and asked them if they had seen or heard of Menachem-Mendl. “If,” they said, “his name is Menachem-Mendl, that’s not enough. There are lots of Menachem-Mendls around here. What’s his last name?”

“I haven’t any idea,” I said. “At home in Kasrilevka he’s known by his mother-in-law’s name, Menachem-Mendl Leah-Dvossi’s. What more do you need? His father-in-law, an elderly Jew, also goes by her name — Boruch-Hersh Leah-Dvossi’s, and even she, Leah-Dvossi, is called Leah-Dvossi Boruch-Hersh Leah-Dvossi’s. Now do you understand?”

“We understand,” they said, “but that’s still not enough. What is his business? What does he deal in, your Menachem-Mendl?”

“What does he deal in? He deals in gold imperials,” I said, “and options, and he sends off telegrams to Saint Petersburg, to Warsaw.”

“Oh?” They began to laugh, then laughed louder and louder. “You mean the crook Menachem-Mendl! Why don’t you just go across the street? There you’ll find brokers running around like rabbits, and yours is probably one of them.” The longer you lived, the more you learned, I thought. Rabbits — what were they talking about?

I crossed the street. Everywhere were Jews, kayn eyn horeh, like at a fair. It was crowded, impossible to push through. People were tearing around like madmen, this one here, that one there, one on top of the other — it was chaos. They were talking, screaming, waving their hands in the air: “Shares, stocks. . he gave me his word. . I need a down payment. . a fee. . you’re an idiot. . I’ll bash your head in. . spit in his face. . what a speculator. . chiseler. . your father’s father!” They almost came to blows. And Jacob fled. I thought I should run before they turned on me! But God is a Father, I am His servant, Yehupetz is a city, and Menachem-Mendl made money! Right here was where people got lucky with gold imperials. Was this what they meant by “doing business”? Woe unto me, Tevye, and my business, God help me.

To make a long story short, I stopped at a large shopwindow displaying trousers and saw in the reflection my so-called benefactor, Menachem-Mendl. My heart hurt when I saw him, so sorry did I feel for him! If ever I had an enemy, and if ever you had an enemy, may we hope to see them in the same state as Menachem-Mendl. His coat, his boots, were in terrible shape. And his face — God in heaven, a healthier face would have been delivered to the grave. So, if I died, that would be the end of me, I could kiss the few groschens goodbye. As they say: “Neither hide nor hair of them”—no merchandise, no money, only troubles.

For his part, Menachem-Mendl seemed abashed to see me, and we both stood as if frozen, unable to speak, just looking into each other’s eyes like two roosters, as if to say, We’re both miserable and cleaned out. We might as well take tin cups and go from house to house!

“Reb Tevye,” he said to me quietly, barely audibly, tears choking him, “Reb Tevye! Without luck, a man shouldn’t have been born! Rather than living like this, it is better to hang.” More he could not say.

“Surely,” I said to him, “for what you did, Mendl, you deserve to be laid out right in the center of Yehupetz and whipped so soundly you’d see Grandma Tzeitl from the Other World. Just think of what you’ve done. You took a household full of living souls, poor creatures, as innocent as lambs, and slit their throats without a knife! God in heaven,” I said, “how can I face my wife and children? Go on, tell me, you slaughterer, swindler, thief!”

“True,” he said, leaning against a wall. “True, Reb Tevye, may God help me.”

“Gehennam,” I said, “ gehennam, you idiot, is too good for you, fool!”

“True, Reb Tevye,” he said, “true, may God help me. Rather than living like this, Reb Tevye. .” He lowered his head. The shlimazel hung his head down and leaned against the wall, his hat sliding down his head. I heard every sigh and groan. My heart went out to him.